


Like a Brother

by Cyane (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Mycroft, Bullying, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Hurt Sherlock, Not John Friendly, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Pre-Slash, SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK SEASON FOUR EPISODE ONE, Victim Blaming, dont say i didn't warn you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: After she is gone, Mycroft is there for his brother.S4E1 SPOILERS





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed to write this the SECOND I saw S4E1. God damn.
> 
> SPOILERS SPOILERS! Seriously. 
> 
> That ending. God. Everything hurts. Everything is pain. God.
> 
> Also I know John is going through a lot but I hate him a lot right now and it'll probably convey in the story, I'm really sorry if it offends you because he is grieving
> 
> *edited because when I first wrote this I was consumed with anger and blinded by my hatred and said not nice things*

Mycroft saw it all.

Honestly, at first he had been sure that that bloody woman would've just shot herself in the head and saved them all the trouble. When she pointed the gun at Sherlock, Mycroft was truly disappointed. 

Wrong move.

When she actually pulled the trigger, he felt like he had turned to lead. He wouldn't- wouldn't- _couldn't_ let his brother die. Not... not again. And it wasn't even the second time, either.

He knew that Sherlock knew what would happen. Damn the man, he would let it happen, to protect Mary. 

Then she jumped. 

When it hit her, Mycroft knew that there wasn't time to save her. She was gone, then and there. For a moment he wondered if he should even bother sending for medics but once he heard the yell he quickly did nonetheless.

And Sherlock... One look at his brothers face told him everything. Sherlock's mind was not working. Sherlock was not thinking. Sherlock could not move.

Sherlock was crying, then.

Had he risked everything for it to end like this? Shot Magnussen? Overdosed? Given away his heart? 

From the other side of the room, Greg Lestrade stood, looking distraught. Mycroft still found himself unable to move, however; rooted in the same spot. No comforting Gregory. No comforting Sherlock. 

"You made a vow!" John snarled- spat, really- at Sherlock.

Mycroft thought that maybe he had seen this look on his brother's face before- right after he had faked his own suicide and he had come to the back alleyways. When he had been the one to come to Sherlock's room and tell him that Redbeard was gone. He had seen it when he had first pulled Sherlock out of a Serbian bunker, and his brother was half alive, half conscious, having conversations with John Watson and screaming for the torture to stop.

He saw that exact look on Sherlock's face when Sherlock thought he was alone- when Sherlock had left the wedding early. Before Sherlock turned to drugs. 

Mycroft didn't like anyone who put that look on his little brother's face. And recently, John Watson was the one to do it. 

When John continued spewing white hot venom at Sherlock, Greg opened his mouth to retort, looked at Mary's limp form, and shut his mouth. Mycroft knew. He... almost appriciated the DI standing up for his brother. His silence was for the best, however. 

Once paramedics finally showed up, John was whisked away. Mary was whisked away. Mycroft ordered his men to leave. Soon it was just Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg Lestrade, and the deafening silence. 

It took ten full minutes of silence before Sherlock took an incredibly wobbly step forward and reached one hand down, touched the pool of Mary's drying blood, and looked at his hands. There was so much blood. 

"Sherlock-" Mycroft finally murmured softly, walking forward. Greg saw this as the breaking of the silence and also stepped forward.

Sherlock shook his head sharply, letting out a raspy, choked, "Guh," before sliding to sit. 

Damn John Watson. Mycroft wasn't one to forgive at the best of times. He had kept John's affair a secret because he had trusted the man. John had been the making of Sherlock Holmes. And he had made him worse than ever. 

Mycroft hurried forward, kneeling beside his brother and reaching out with both hands. 

"Did s-she... jump in front of me...?"

Mycroft shut his eyes at Sherlock's trembling form. The blood was seeping everywhere. Getting everywhere. 

"Yes... 'Lock." 

It was a term that he hadn't used in a long time. Or... Actually, he hadn't used since he had talked with Sherlock before the MI6 suicide mission in which Sherlock had overdosed. 

Greg had knelt nearby, looking extremely concerned. 

"He didn't mean it, mate," Greg said quietly. "He's in shock, that's all."

Mycroft wished that was true. But given everything Watson had been doing- everything that had been going on. No; John had meant it.

"'Lock, look at me," Mycroft commanded. His brother's huge, traumatized eyes eventually focused on his. "Focus, brother-mine. _Breathe_."

Sherlock inhaled quickly, sharply, violently. 

"Breathe," Mycroft said again. 

Slowly Sherlock's breathing evened out to the point where he was still gasping for breath, but at least he wasn't choking on his own air and at risk of hyperventilating.

"Is she dead?" Sherlock asked.

They all knew the answer.

Mycroft was never one to hide the truth to promote blissful ignorance. 

_"Domestic bliss..."_

He cursed his own words.

"Yes, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hand shot out and his fist tightened around Mycroft's collar. Instead of getting violent, however, he just pulled them together and desperately held on to his older brother, letting out ragged, dry sobs. 

"I tried to- save her, Myc, I promise- I tried-" Stuttering. Shock. PTSD. Reliving past memories.

Sherlock would get shot for Mary again. But he couldn't fathom the fact that Mary would get shot for him.

"I know, 'Lock."

Mycroft doesn't tell his brother that there was nothing he could have done. Because there was. He could have done a number of things. That didn't mean it was his fault, though. 

Mycroft doesn't tell his brother that things were going to be okay, or that Mary would be forever in their hearts, or that John would come around. Because none of those things would probably ever be true. Doctor Watson was too bloody stubborn.

Mycroft remembers when they were children, and Mycroft was actually trying to use ordinary 'bedside manner' when Sherlock was obviously upset. The other boys at school used to beat him. 

_"You'll be alright," Mycroft said. "Things will get better. Eventually they'll see."_

_"I don't believe you." Sherlock muttered. "And you don't believe you, either."_

Sherlock had been nine. He had been sporting a nasty shiner, several bruises on his neck and stomach, and a lighter mark on his chin. And he already knew that the world was cruel. 

And it would only get more cruel.

That was what Mycroft was thinking about when he held Sherlock in his arms, covered in blood that (for once) wasn't his own. Eventually Sherlock completely fainted from both breathing poorly and from the shock. Mycroft picked him up in one swoop and swiftly carried him towards the car.

"Come along, Detective Inspector Lestrade," He said without looking back. He knew that Gregory would be right on his heels. 

There would be fallout. Of course there would be. 

Therapy. It didn't matter if Sherlock protested; Mycroft would be more worried if he didn't object. 

A watchful eye. Mycroft would set up more cameras to make sure Sherlock didn't turn back to drugs or harming himself. Mrs. Hudson would definitely help.

Cases. There would be no possible way Sherlock would survive without a distraction that wasn't substance. Lestrade could bring out old case files that had never been solved. Sherlock could cope.

And there was no doubt about it.

For the time being, John Watson would not come near Sherlock Holmes unless Mycroft was there himself to protect his brother, who would no doubt take whatever John threw at him.

Mycroft wanted to be in his brother's life. He had been cut off for a long many years. The "arch-enemy".

Now Mycroft would be a part in his brother's life, and not just to help him through withdrawal. This time, he could be there for him through good and bad. Like a brother. 

Like a brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so upset. Like so so upset.
> 
> Grr. 
> 
> You're grounded, John Hamish Watson. Go sit in the corner and think about what you've done.
> 
> *broken wail*
> 
> SHERLOCK LOVE U BBY


End file.
